


The Turning of the Yén

by TAFKAB



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Elf Culture & Customs, Elf Sex, F/M, M/M, Multi, Temporary Character Death, crackfic, fixit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:31:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6104992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAB/pseuds/TAFKAB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elves may seem very aloof and remote, untouchable and sexless-- at least to outsiders.  But when Galadriel asks Legolas to bring Gimli to Lórien for her final 144-year festival, he experiences a completely different aspect of elvish culture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I think I’ve crossed the ultimate bridge and that’s it, I’m going to hell in as many handbaskets as there are, and the handbaskets are as elaborate as they get, I find another handbasket. Ooooh, pretty!
> 
> Gimli/Galadriel, just because. Gimli/Legolas, because even moar. Legolas/Gimli/Galadriel because DWARF SANDWICH!
> 
> This violates everything Tolkien said about elves about a thousand ways from Sunday. Total crackfic! (But it’s crackfic featuring a pretty happy dwarf.)

The fall of Sauron led to many things, most joyful and some sad. Saddest of all to Gimli was the passing of the elves, who poured from Middle Earth in their fading, taking ship to the Undying Lands. Even the Lady of Lórien was to go forth, Legolas said, a thought that grieved Gimli very to the deeps of his heart. His only solace was in his own elven friend, who would stay until he passed, ignoring the sea-longing for his sake.

*****

“A letter has come,” Legolas told Gimli one day when they rested from their labors in Minas Tirith. Gimli and his dwarves had raised the left door of the new gate and set it on its pivot, hard labor indeed, and very delicate. 

Gimli hardly looked up from his meat and ale. “Has it? From whom?”

“The Lady of Lothlórien,” Legolas told him, full of mischief, and Gimli sat up in haste. 

“Well? Read it, Legolas!” He pushed away his meal, all weariness falling from him. 

“She invites us,” Legolas paused, reading ahead, his eyes opening wide.

“To?” The dwarf could hardly sit still, so glad was he to hear from this friend he had thought lost in all but fact. 

“To the Festival of the Yén,” Legolas whispered at last, still staring at the letter. “This is… it is…”

“Go on.”

“I cannot begin to say!”

Gimli nearly danced in his seat from frustration. “It is what, Legolas?”

“An honor unprecedented. For either of us,” the elf explained slowly. It seemed to Gimli he groped for words, as if unsure himself of the letter’s import. “This festival is held only every hundred and forty-four years, by human reckoning. It marks the turning of an elvish year as well as the passing of the winter season. It will be her last in Lothlórien before she sails. She wishes us there, to…”

“Must I learn both the Tengwar and your tongue, that I may read it myself?” Gimli growled. “Out with it, elf!” 

“To take part in the festivities.” Legolas sounded almost faint. “As her honored guests.”

“Well then, we will go!” Gimli rubbed his palms together, in raptures of joy. “A well-earned party to celebrate the fall of Sauron, and a chance to say farewell to a dear friend. I am pleased, Legolas, and touched by her consideration. When will we depart?”

“Straight away,” the elf said. “That we may arrive in time.”

“You said you wished to see Lothlórien in springtime,” Gimli smiled on him. “Now you will have your wish. I only wish I had time to order suitable clothing!”

Legolas set the letter on the table. “You will not need it,” he predicted, but Gimli was too excited to pay heed.

*****

Gimli left the telling of Aragorn to Legolas, and that was well enough; the expression upon the king’s face had to be seen to be believed. The king dismissed his counselors and closeted himself alone with Legolas.

“My friend,” Aragorn said slowly. “Perhaps she wishes to try her hand at making a match, for surely even then she knew. And yet you tarry, despite the count of years.”

Legolas flushed deep red to the ears. “I have not yet found my time to speak.”

“You should. He grows no younger.” Aragorn set his hand on the elf’s shoulder. “None can know the grief of the passing years better than an elf who loves a mortal, as Elrond has often said to chivvy me forth in some grim duty, so I might hasten the day of my wedding. The lady means to help you, I think.”

“Perhaps it is so.” Legolas sank his white teeth in his lip. “Gimli will not expect this. And yet I know not how to warn him.”

“Let him find out when he must. Trust in Galadriel.” Aragorn smiled suddenly, giving him a sly wink. “And prepare yourself for joy, my friend. The work here is well in hand, and can wait until you return.”

“If we return together, or at all!” Legolas murmured darkly.

“You will return singing, riding upon the same horse, lovers at last,” Aragorn predicted, giving Legolas a sly grin. “I count upon it.”

*****

Legolas and Gimli rode forth upon Arod, the dwarf in his customary seat behind. He was merry, talking and disposed to telling stories. It was pleasant to camp again in the wild, as though no time had passed and they yet journeyed as a fellowship. But it was even more pleasant to share the time alone with Gimli, with no duty or work to separate them. 

Legolas almost wished they had no destination to stop their travels, but they made good time in their march along the Anduin, detouring only to pass marshes and hills. Soon the eaves of Lórien came in sight.

“You have been skittish and fey all this trip, Legolas,” Gimli grumbled as they made their final camp before arrival. “I might almost think there is something you have not told me about this festival of yours.”

“It is not of mine, for neither the Silvan folk nor the Sindar celebrate the yéni as do the Noldorim.” Legolas shrugged, uneasy. “In truth I know not what we might expect, never having turned the yén in company with the Galadhrim.”

“But you know something.”

“Rumor only. Perhaps much exaggerated.” Valar send it were so!

“I will withstand this elvish celebrating, shower us however the lady may in food and wine!” Gimli was in great good spirits. “I will even tolerate your people’s infernal singing and dancing, so long as I may be in the presence of Galadriel. And if there is sadness to be borne, the sorrow of final partings in this world, I will endure that too, and take comfort in having you with me on our homeward journey.”

Legolas could not help but smile, and he took Gimli’s outstretched hand. “And I will take such comfort in you, as well,” he said—hoping very much that Aragorn was right. 

*****

The two were greeted upon arrival and taken in state to Caras Galadhon, where lanterns hung lit in all the tree-branches, illuminating the new leaves and shining golden flowers of the mallorn. Everywhere upon the ground, the leaves of winter faded, a crisp and whispering carpet of gold, sending up a sweet scent of spices when crushed underfoot. The lawns were green, speckled with white and golden flowers, and birds sang among the trees, building nests. 

Elves with crowns and garlands of flowers in their hair paused in their business and gathered to greet the travelers, lining the streets and paths, and Legolas was glad Gimli could not understand their whispers. 

“What say they?” he demanded. “And why do they stare on us?”

“This festival is confined to the people of the Galadhrim,” Legolas reminded him. “As I told you when our letter came, it is a great honor that we were invited, an unprecedented thing. It is forbidden for any outsider to come here at this time, and we would not have been admitted here but for the calling of the lady.”

Gimli drew himself upright with pride. “Then let them stare.”

They did so, until Legolas and Gimli were taken to the base of the tree where each had been assigned a talan of his own, with screens hung about the edges to protect their privacy. Elves were waiting there.

“Greetings to those favored of the lady,” a slender elf-maid said as she stepped forward to receive them. “Our revels begin tonight, and you have arrived only in time. Come and be made ready.”

Legolas winced. He had hoped for more time to prepare Gimli—and yet, he hardly knew what to advise.

“What sort of preparation is required?”

“We will be cleansed inside and out and clad in the festival raiment of the Galadhrim,” Legolas guessed. “Go with your group, and do as they say. We will meet again before the feasting.”

Their talans were screened, but he could hear Gimli’s grumbling—at times loud and sharp indeed. Legolas blushed to hear it—he too was subject to the cleansing, and was not surprised the dwarf should balk, especially at having such things done to him by maidens: washing and anointing of every part of the body, and purging of the insides in particular.

“Elf, is this foolishness truly necessary?” Gimli barked once, trusting he would be heard.

“It is traditional!” Legolas called back to him. 

“For the love of Mahal, I will do _that_ myself!” He heard Gimli snap, very much in a temper. 

When they were led forth from the tree, he thought Gimli looked very handsome indeed, his hair and beard washed and braided anew, twined with flowers. Like Legolas himself, Gimli wore fine elvish silks, a sheer robe that parted along the front and had no ties to hold it shut. Gimli clutched it closed with both hands. The dwarf’s cheeks were flushed red and his eyes wild. “What sort of damnable revels do these folk get up to, Legolas?” He demanded. “You have not been forthright with me!”

“We are the favored guests of the lady, yet I could not be sure until we were readied that this was her true purpose in asking us to come,” Legolas flushed also. “This festival is a time of renewal and preparation for a new cycle of fruitfulness. I believe,” he hesitated, and turned his head aside. “She is to depart at midsummer, but before that Galadriel will want to bless the wood for a fruitful harvest. This is a time to,” he savaged his lip with his teeth. “A time to reinforce the bonds of kinship and love between all in the wood, and…. All bonds and vows of matrimony are suspended for this time, that many may join in love, to ensure the birth of new elflings.”

“ _Then what the devil did she invite me for?_ ” Gimli choked, barely able to speak in his perplexity and amazement.

“You are beloved and favored by the lady,” Legolas whispered. “And too, I think you represent a new time of accord, a turning outward, an alliance much to be desired and courted by the elves who linger on these shores. Much like the one between the king and queen of Gondor.”

Gimli stared at him, his eyes near to falling out of his head. “Could you not have warned me this might happen?” He hissed.

“I could not be sure.” Legolas cast down his eyes. “I did not know, and yet I thought you would accept the offer gladly, out of your great love…” he moistened his lips, both nervous and sorrowful, “and desire… for her.”

Gimli would have said more—much more, if Legolas was any judge—but their guides chose that moment to lead them forth. Together they mounted the steps of the great tree that would take them to the heart of Caras Galadhon, the palace of Galadriel, nestled beneath the crown of the tallest mallorn of Lórien. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas and the lady dance to seek Gimli's favor.

Legolas fell in behind Gimli, noticing his bare feet and his legs as they climbed. The robes were very light indeed, showing the clean outlines of limbs through fabric no matter how Gimli might clutch his closed. He had never seen the dwarf wear so little; the sight was a wonder to him. 

Gimli’s form was lean and hard, and though it was not tall and slim, it had its own very beautiful proportions. Every part of him suited every other, from his sturdy feet to his powerful calves and thick, hard-muscled thighs. His buttocks were equally powerful and well-rounded, his waist narrow—his belly with just a hint of softness beneath a wide and sturdy set of shoulders and a deep chest, layered thickly in solid muscle. Dark forms were drawn upon his body, showing through the translucent fabric: careful drawings displaying the angular knotted lacework beloved by dwarves. Legolas had never before glimpsed any of them, and he found himself envying the handmaidens who had bathed and prepared his friend, who had seen and touched much so far denied to him.

His heart beat hard as they climbed, more than the gentle slope could account for. He wondered at his friend’s thoughts, at Gimli’s fears and hopes. Would he rather have stayed in Gondor? Was he eager for what awaited?

What, in fact, awaited them above? Would the lady be generous, or would she take Gimli for her own?

Legolas could not guess, and might only cling to the knowledge that he, too, had been invited. He must remember Aragorn’s words and trust in the lady. 

They arrived at the great hall, a wide flat platform supported between six thick horizontal branches at the tree’s crown. The air was full of light, filtered between the many tender new leaves. All was silver and green, the hues of moonlight and spring. The lady stood there, and half a dozen elves with her, males and females both. Legolas recognized Haldir among them, inclining his head in greeting. Gimli saw him too, Legolas realized; he set his feet and lifted his jaw, defiant. He had never liked the march-warden, remembering his discourteous greeting to the golden wood.

A table had been set with white linen. Delicate foods graced the platters there: berries and fruits, sweet breads and honey, and crystal goblets filled with gleaming golden cordial. Legolas knew it would be strong. Such drinks he had tasted before, here and in Rivendell. They made Gimli’s beloved ales and beers seem very weak indeed. Legolas had once heard Aragorn refer to consuming such beer or ale as “making love in a boat,” which baffled him entirely. 

The dwarf made a low rumble of discontent upon viewing the table, and Legolas smiled to himself. Gimli had a love of roasted meat, and he often complained of elvish fare, though he ate it readily enough. He must be calm, if he could spare a thought for food. 

The elves parted, revealing the lord and lady of Lórien. Galadriel’s hair had been twined into long silver-gold braids about her head, with garlands of flowers strung among them. She came forth and clasped Legolas’s hands in both her own, then Gimli’s—prompting him to release his protective grasp upon his clothing.

“I am glad you have come. Refresh yourselves as you will, my honored guests.” She included everyone in her smile. “When you are finished, we will begin our revels with dancing.”

Legolas was glad of the delay; he found himself badly shaken. The loveliness of Galadriel was a legend spanning the ages. Next to her he felt plain, a country cousin of little grace or refinement whom none would willingly choose. Perhaps that was why she had invited Haldir; a guest of lower status to match Legolas’s own inferior Sindarin bloodline and silvan upbringing, who might keep him occupied while she entertained the true guest of honor.

He took his place across from Gimli at the table and took up a glass of the cordial. “Have a care, my friend. It is quite strong,” he warned, but paid no such attention on his own account, tipping it back and pouring the smooth golden fire between his lips. He swallowed, feeling its burning glow warm his stomach. He had never felt ill from food, but he thought he might start at once; the liquor mingled with his unease and left him feeling out of center, disoriented within himself. 

Haldir greeted him, sitting to Legolas’s left. “Slowly, my old friend!” He laughed, apparently quite at ease. “It is good to see you again, but I would rather see you dance than lie upon the floor in a stupor of drink.”

Legolas drew himself upright, his spine growing taut, and put a finely-turned dose of his father’s frost into his tone. “I have not grown accustomed to the watery ales of men. I am quite able to dance after a single glass of elvish cordial.”

“Indeed, I will hold you to that,” Haldir laughed and drank his own. “Welcome, son of Glóin. Never before has a dwarf joined us for our revels!”

Gimli removed his gaze from Legolas’s face to regard the warden of the march, but not before Legolas detected a note of approval in the dwarf’s look. 

“There is always a first time, I suppose. I am honored by the lady’s consideration.” Gimli’s words were the heart of courtesy, and his tone as well. He lifted his glass toward Galadriel, who sat on his right at the head of the table, between him and Legolas. She bowed her head to him, her eyes smiling. 

Legolas envied Gimli his composure; he felt ragged and out of place, torn asunder by both longing and envy. He felt the lady’s eyes rest upon him and made himself eat: bread with honey, each bite lying heavily in his stomach.

Gimli ate and drank sparingly, draining only half his glass. He ate neatly, Legolas noted—imitating the manners of his hostess. 

“Out of respect for our honored Gimli, we will change the manner of our celebration,” Galadriel spoke when all were sated. Musicians arrived on the winding stair and ranged themselves about the trunk, preparing to play. “He does not know our dances or traditions. And neither, perhaps, does Legolas of the woodland realm.” She smiled on Legolas with kindness. 

“As always on this first night, we meet and share food together, and then we dance before we depart to welcome in the coming _yén_. But rather than partnering in our dance, we will dance before Gimli son of Glóin, who knows not the ways of Elvish dancing, so he may watch and choose his partner. Then those who remain will be sorted in the usual way.” 

Legolas felt his heart sink. Carefully he set his glass upon the table. He had guessed rightly; Haldir was intended to console him after he was rejected, for Gimli would never choose him. Perhaps he might join the musicians and leave the march-warden to partner with one of the Galadhrim, which would doubtless be more to his liking than a dwarf’s poor leavings.

But Legolas was not born to despair, and as soon as his heart sank, he he felt himself again Thranduil’s son, and lifted his body, holding himself straight with pride. Let these stately Noldor try to rival a Silvan dancer! He would dance as he had never danced and show all how much he deserved to be chosen. He would make all burn for him, that he not be shamed when Gimli chose the lady and left Legolas heartbroken.

He would dance all his love and pain, and if he had spent his whole heart by the time he finished, then let him never dance again—but tonight he would dance his heart. Perhaps he would win the lord Celeborn’s regard. It would be a bittersweet triumph to lure the Lord of the Galadhrim to bed, yet in so doing he might take back a measure of pride, winning a liaison whose political value would equal the one to which he had all desire but no claim, which would surely be taken from him. 

They arose from the table together and handmaidens quickly cleared it away, leaving only flasks and glasses for the pale wine. The lady threw off her robe and Celeborn followed, and all the elves did likewise, Legolas among their number. Gimli hesitated, glancing about, and found himself the only one yet clad. Slowly he let his robe drop. A maid whisked it away, leaving him to stand proud and bare.

All drew breath, a whisper that danced with the wind among the leaves.

Legolas found he could not look away. Nor, it seemed, could many of the other elves, Galadriel among them. Gimli gleamed with ruddy health, his fiery hair and dark skin vibrant against the pale colors of the woods. He shone like the sun, hot and vital, bright and strong enough to burn, his mortal glory dimming the moonlit elves who stood around him. It took Legolas’s breath to see his friend thus. He had never before beheld the fading of the elves so displayed: their presence remote, attenuated, their immediacy within the world cast in such shadow by a mortal whose fierce and present life made them flicker and waver by compare.

Such vitality would bless Gimli’s union with the lady, that the whole of Rhovanion would surely flower!

He could see Galadriel begin to move with the music, her pale flesh touched by warm coral pink at lips and nipples, her eyes bright. Slow and graceful, stately, but with a sinuous curve to her spine, she displayed herself in slow half-time, each new motion drawn from her by the start of the next measure. Hers was a momentum slow-building, the enticing but cool song of a seductress well-confident in her power and beauty, weaving a spell of subtlety. In her Legolas could perceive the untouchable brought within reach, the unknowable teased and hinted. All the delights of a maid on offer, but shyly kept half-hidden, a blushing promise designed to madden and enflame.

He could not win. 

Legolas closed his eyes and dove for the music, which skirled aloft in a sudden torrent, answering his call. He held himself in rigid bounds, but within them he strove, eyes tight-shut. He whirled and leaped, and his fingers touched the leaves, but could not grasp. Spinning he hung, then leaped again—his body echoing the desperate ache of his soul as it strove and yearned for that he could not reach, the sun beyond his grasp. He danced his pain as the sun burned him with its light, and his helpless love for the light that hurt him. He danced his need, his will to go on loving in the face of despair. He was hardly aware of others around him. He arched and felt his hair touch his heels; spinning, it snapped around him. 

He had danced in battle-lust many times before, but never had he fought so truly, or with less hope, pouring out all his heart for one who would have it not.

Others drew back, withdrawing from the contest to give him room, but Legolas heeded nothing. At last he could do no more but bend and fall, driven to the floor, and dance his desire from his knees. No elegant Noldor dance, this, but a Silvan’s plea of need for his mate, begging for his touch, offering up his body to worship and be worshipped in return. Hands caressing chest and belly, arms and thighs; hands covering face and lips, Legolas danced until he fell exhausted, his hair spread out beneath him, one knee upraised and arms outflung, his body slick with sweat, his lungs gasping for breath. 

He knew not where the dwarf’s eyes rested, but the music stopped and he drew himself upright, trembling, his head hanging, hair falling forward to cover his burning cheeks. 

“Choose, son of Glóin.” The voice of Celeborn broke the silence, cool and silvery as water. “Your dancers stand before you.”

The silence stretched long, and elves stirred about the talan. Legolas opened his eyes and gazed through the tangled fall of his hair. He and the lady were all who remained of the dancers, the others standing politely back from the field they had yielded up, their heads bowed with respect. Galadriel stood slim and tall, shining like Eärendil in the sky, her skin aglow with a delicate flush of blood, her head turned to one side, her lips parted. She ravished even Legolas with her beauty.

“Forgive me, for I am but a dwarf. I am so greedy I cannot decide between them!” Gimli spoke, his voice throttled in anguish. “They are both so beautiful, and they have both offered me a priceless gift I would not turn aside. For to choose one would be to spurn and shame the other, and this I will not do!”

Legolas lifted his head and beheld the dwarf in his agony. Gimli’s cheeks flushed red, his eyes shining bright with tears and desire, his hands outstretched toward them both. Legolas felt his heart fill with love and wonder. He was not unwanted after all, but against all hope he had been found equal in the dwarf’s eyes when set next to the lady of Lothlórien!

He should withdraw in courtesy, but he could not. He would not.

“If it please the lady,” Legolas whispered, barely able to make himself heard, “I am willing to share.”

“As am I,” Galadriel spoke in immediate answer, her voice low and warm, and Legolas sagged with relief.

“Bring wine for Thranduilion,” Celeborn’s voice revealed no distress. “For he has danced as I have never seen, and truly he has earned his place tonight.”

Legolas flushed. He knew many eyes were hot upon him, yet he felt no shame. None mattered but Gimli’s, dark and startled though they were as they beheld him. The dwarf’s flesh stood erect, sturdy and thick, answering both Legolas's call and the lady’s. 

Haldir brought the wine, his cheeks and ears flushed as he beheld Legolas. “Truly I wish that one day, such a dance would be done for the love of me!” He touched his fingertips lightly to Legolas’s cheek as if in awe and yearning, then poured him wine and water. Legolas drank deeply once and then again, his head spinning. 

The lady came near and laid her hand on Legolas’s arm, a faint and secret smile upon her lips. “You are gracious in victory, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen.”

“Nay, it is you who have shown grace to me,” Legolas stammered, beginning to recover. “In inviting me here, then in sharing with me what I would never have had the courage to seek on my own.” 

“Let us go, then, and claim our prize,” she murmured. “He is waiting and ready.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas overcomes his jealousy-- mostly-- and the threesome begins.

They departed as the music began again behind them, but Legolas paid it no attention. He fell in behind Gimli, who followed the lady. The dwarf’s feet moved with near silence, now that they were bare. Legolas was glad of his position, for he had to meet no eyes, and felt no eyes rest upon him. Now that the crisis of despair had passed, he was discovering he did not truly wish to share, but how could he refuse?

Throughout the city they could hear music and laughter, and elves drank and sang in the streets, some of them sharing kisses. All were bare now the sun had set, bodies shining like pale flowers among the branches. 

Galadriel led them to ground, then among the winding paths between the roots of trees until she brought them away from the well-traveled paths and into a woodland park where she had set a bower amidst the twining silver-grey roots, near to a stream that rippled and sang in the dim. 

Thick moss grew there, soft and yielding underfoot, and tiny white violets among the moss gave the air a sweet and piercing fragrance. It was warm between the roots, the breeze blocked by both ground and trees. Galadriel sank to the moss, folding her long bare legs beneath her. 

“Politeness says the guest is served first, but there are two of you and only one of me,” she said softly. “Will you join me, cousin, in serving our shared friend?”

Obedient, Legolas came forth and sank to the ground next to her, and together they reached their arms out for Gimli, who stood staring, dazed. His tongue flickered out to lick his lips as he stared helplessly at them; his fierce arousal had not faded, but he stood still, looking strangely lost. Legolas understood at once. Despite his seeming calm, he hovered at the edge of panic, abashed before the lady, unprepared to have such intimacy with her so swiftly. Perhaps also he felt ashamed to to show that feeling before Legolas; perhaps he had selected him out of pity rather than true desire.

" _Mellon nîn, no veren. Av-'osto_ ," Legolas said softly, though he too was terrified, for reasons of his own. Gimli frowned at him, puzzled, and Legolas bowed his head in apology, then switched to Westron. “You are meant to enjoy this,” he explained again. “It is why you are here.” He could not look up to meet the dwarf’s gaze; his heart trembled with anxiety. “You need not fear; all you may wish is permitted now.” He fell still, trembling, wondering if he would be able to bear what must come next.

Gimli came forward, one slow step and then another. “Forgive me, lady, for I cannot kiss you both at once,” he whispered. “And I will kiss him first, or I think we both will perish from our need.”

Legolas could not believe such a thing. He shivered as Gimli’s rough palm came under his chin, lifting his head; he came without resistance, his lips half-parted with obedient submission, prepared to accept whatever swift and formal kiss might come of obligation.

Gimli hesitated, his lids hiding his eyes, his lips an inch from Legolas’s mouth, and hesitated as if to breathe him in, or as if half-unwilling. Legolas could not tell, could not—

Then Gimli closed the gap, and his lips caught Legolas’s and clung, and his teeth grazed Legolas’s lower lip, then closed to worry it in a gentle, teasing bite. He drew back for a moment, for a breath, before returning again. Fiery, passionate, he pushed Legolas open and dove in, and Legolas cleaved to him, and was devoured. 

“I have waited long for that,” Gimli murmured against Legolas’s bruised and swollen lips when he withdrew. “I will not wait so long again. I will tend to you properly,” Gimli promised, taking Legolas’s mouth once more, lips hot, clinging and hungry. “In good time.” He drew back and their gazes met and held. “I will never forget how you danced to win my favor,” he rumbled. “We will discuss it thoroughly, make no mistake. But for now our hostess has her claim on us.”

He turned to Galadriel, then looked and gathered Legolas with his eyes. “Come and help me.”

Galadriel too bowed her head; she smiled, waiting, her hands open on her thighs. 

It was perhaps easier to touch her when released from the spell of her gaze. Taking the lead when his friend faltered, Legolas nestled to kneel behind her, lifting her to settle over his lap. His half-hard cock nestled against her smooth backside, and he nuzzled along her neck, lifting her braids to reach her throat. She closed her eyes and sighed, settling into his arms. 

Gimli watched, his eyes wide, as Legolas ran his hands over her skin to demonstrate it might be safely done without the world seizing the fact as an excuse to end. He was gratified when it did not. The lady sighed with pleasure, arching into his touch.

Gimli swallowed hard and stepped forward. His hands reached out, trembling, and he laid them on her slowly, his fingertips brushing along her collarbones. She smiled and closed her eyes, and Legolas watched as Gimli carefully, hesitantly swept his hands along her shoulders, tracing the delicate lines of her bones. His palms slowly settled onto her, and with each gentle pass he ventured lower, biting his lip, until his callused thumbs brushed her nipples.

Galadriel moaned, and Gimli very nearly flinched, but then he chuckled at himself in wonderment, the tension broken. 

“So beautiful, my lady….”

Legolas swallowed a flicker of envy as Gimli cupped her breasts in his hands and bent to kiss one shell-pink nipple. Despite Gimli’s promise, it hurt Legolas to see the dwarf’s hands and mouth touch skin that was not his.

Galadriel turned aside, brushing her cheek against Legolas as if to comfort him, and he recovered himself, finding her lips with his for an awkward, sideways kiss that made the dwarf murmur low in his throat as he watched. “I never thought to behold such beauty….”

Galadriel reached for Gimli, drawing him in, inviting him to take his turn. He reached to cup the lady’s cheek, claiming a tentative kiss of his own, hardly brushing her lips. He seemed half-afraid to touch her still, though to Legolas’s eye she was eager, lifting her chin to seek more of him.

“I will not break,” she whispered when he withdrew, and she stroked his beard with her slender fingers. “Nor will I regret. This is our way. You have seen my lord give his consent; even now he lies with one of his own choosing. His ardor has cooled over the long ages, for he is well-sated with me, and I with him. Come.” She twined her fingers into his beard and drew him forward. “You are beautiful, strong, and brave of heart. Let me know the true touch of Gimli. Show me what it means to take a dwarf as my lover.” Her lips caressed her words, savoring their taste, smoky-soft with challenge.

Gimli’s eyes blazed with desire; this time he claimed her fiercely, catching the curve of her skull in his palm and bringing her mouth to his with passion. 

Legolas supported Galadriel as Gimli bore forward; she made small, tender sounds in her throat as he kissed her, his rough hands sweeping her body in slow arcs. He plucked at her nipples, making her lift and arch; he slid his mouth from hers and nipped at her throat, which made her laugh with delight. 

Not willing to be left behind, Legolas nuzzled along her ear, darting his tongue along its point. That made her gasp and press her sweet, slim bottom against him, and Gimli smiled his approval, his eyes sparkling at them both. 

“Both of you touch me, yes,” she murmured, and reached back to caress Legolas’s shoulder-- as much as she could reach, her warm palm smoothing over his skin. “Have me as often and with as much abandon as you will.” She lifted her body against Legolas’s cock, and he felt her slick and ready. He slid his hand between them and stroked it, firming it for her, then lifted her, steadying himself to press inside her body.

Gimli seemed unaware of their joining until she cried out softly, and he glanced down over her shoulder to watch them slide together. His pupils went even wider, even darker, and he groaned, renewing his worship of her skin, pressing kisses along her collarbone, then taking her mouth again. 

Legolas moved his hips, lifting to thrust deeply into her tight velvet sheath. Galadriel opened to them both like a flower; he could see her lips part to accept Gimli’s tongue. 

The dwarf’s hands rose to her hair and Legolas let his wander to cross her chest, helping position her to receive his thrusts. Gimli alternated kisses with nuzzles, his fingers busily seeking her tresses, fumbling with fastenings and unbraiding. She murmured laughter against his mouth, the delicate flowers woven into her hair slowly escaping and showering onto Legolas’s lap and thighs.

Legolas longed for Gimli’s touch, but he did not speak of it, focusing on keeping his strokes firm and even, wanting to give Galadriel pleasure. She moved in tandem with him, rocking gently. Her freed hair cascaded over his arms, and Gimli gently ran his fingers through it, combing the waving strands apart. At last every braid was undone, and the dwarf might bury his face in her flowing tresses. He did, and Legolas watched his expression turn to bliss.

Gimli laughed low in his throat, exultant, and again he dared to take her mouth, claiming her easily this time, with confidence. She offered herself up eagerly, sweet and pliant, wrapping her arms around Gimli and drawing him close.

His coarse chest-hair tickled against Legolas’s arms. Legolas closed his eyes and bent his forehead to rest against Galadriel’s hair, stifling a whimper in his throat. The accidental contact nearly undid him, and he lost his rhythm for a moment, aching for more of Gimli, yet suffering mute, unable to ask. Galadriel was lovely, silky warm inside his arms, and the clasp of her body welcomed him, but he yearned for Gimli even more.

It was not his to ask, not yet. He removed his arms so Gimli might hold the lady without barrier, resting his palms atop her shoulders and speeding his pace. She moaned and clasped him harder. 

Gimli released Galadriel at length, nuzzling a last kiss against the corner of her mouth, and then reached out to Legolas, fisting one hand in his hair and tugging him forward.

Bliss surged through Legolas’s belly as he surrendered to the rough kiss, parting his lips and welcoming Gimli’s tongue gladly with his own. Gimli gave a low growl and kissed him harder. Legolas moaned, his hips speeding without recourse to his conscious will. Thrusting hard, he made Galadriel keen with pleasure. 

She moaned as Gimli drank of the kiss, her head tipping back against Legolas’s shoulder. She writhed between them, her lids heavy, her hair a golden waterfall spilling over her breasts. Gimli slowly ran his palm along her thigh, and she quivered, spreading herself wider. Finding himself welcomed, he buried two blunt fingers in her folds, releasing Legolas at length from his kiss. 

Legolas set aside envy and addressed himself to the pleasant task of having her, his hands wandering over her smooth body. She reached to cover them with her own, purring with pleasure, her slim form wracked with shudders. Whatever Gimli was doing, he knew his craft well; her nails dug at Legolas’s wrists in time with the slow strokes of the dwarf’s fingers, lips, and tongue. Legolas matched his thrusts to their rhythm, and at least felt true heat begin to build inside him—he might come in her thus, his eyes filled with Gimli’s strength and beauty. 

Galadriel drew Gimli upward and murmured in his ear. “Stand,” she commanded, and his fingers left her. Legolas could smell the faint sea-salt tang of her flesh upon Gimli’s hand, sending an unexpected shudder of heat through him. He took Gimli’s fingers between his lips, licking at the callused pads for the taste of her, and Gimli gave a low gasp. 

Galadriel freed herself from Legolas’s hands and reached out, running her palms over the dwarf’s solid hips and arse, pulling him forward so she might reach his thick cock, which stood taut before his belly, heavy and eager. She leaned forward to seek it, her lips open.

“Oh, my lady,” his voice broke as her lips brushed him, and his sturdy cock quivered, its velvet skin-sheath drawn tight about the dusky tip. “You need not do this for me--!”

“I desire it,” she told him, and her agile pink tongue teased his length, making him whimper, his hands clenching to fists, then opening, threading gently into her hair. Legolas moved his own fingers to undertake the caresses Gimli had forsaken. 

Gimli moved but very slightly as she explored the crown. He was dusky hard, the tip leaking clear fluid, which she painted upon her lips and lapped away. He would not thrust himself into the lady’s mouth, Legolas knew. He could perceive Gimli’s strain for control, his careful stillness, the leashed power of the broad hands enfolding the queen's fair head. It gave him courage, for he knew the dwarf thought him not so fragile; he would be a better partner in this, and gave Gimli to know it with a wicked smile, licking his lips in promise.

Gimli swallowed hard, his eyes dazed, following the path of Legolas’s tongue as Galadriel explored him, licking and dusting kisses along the thick shaft. Legolas could feel her body clenching around him, and she was very slick. He thought she drew near her climax, and he quickened his circling finger, making her shudder and whine, her hand curling around Gimli’s cock, her cheek against it, the tip tangled in her hair. 

“Come for me, lockbearer,” she whispered, and drew back, then took Gimli deep into her mouth, sliding down as far as she might. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, bobbing her shining head, one hand wrapped tightly around the shaft, the other lifting the coarse-furred rounds that hung between his thighs.

Gimli choked deep in his throat, and his hips jerked as he struggled against her command, reluctant to spend in her mouth-- but Legolas urgently wanted to see his face as he came, so he reached for Gimli and tweaked his nipple hard.

Gimli growled, his mouth falling open, and his hips jerked forward helplessly as his control shattered. Legolas felt Galadriel purr against his chest, then convulse about his cock as she lost herself in turn, her velvet depths wringing his orgasm from him, the both of them spending inside her at once. 

“That was not fair,” Gimli husked when they recovered, a tangled tumble of sweaty limbs and mingled strands of hair. “Two against one!”

She only laughed at him. “Are you outmatched, then? You will have to change your tactics so that you may keep up, _mell nín_.”

A thought came to Legolas, and he did not dismiss it, turning her so he might reach her mouth. He nuzzled against the corner, scenting Gimli there, and kissed away the salt upon her lips, then dove deeper, seeking the rich and bitter flavor on her tongue, drawing away only when it was gone. 

Gimli rumbled deep in his chest. He followed suit, rolling between her thighs and parting them with his broad hands. He nuzzled his face against her, and she whimpered at the tickle of his beard against her thighs. “The very essence of elf,” he whispered. “Unworthy though I am to partake!” He buried his face against her, his tongue delving deep.

Legolas blushed to watch him, hearing him rumble his pleasure. Gimli’s thumbs found the crook of her legs and lifted them, spreading them wide to ease his way. He murmured with pleasure, pressing himself even more deeply against her. The sight made Legolas’s cock stir despite his recent climax, and she smiled on him sleepily. “Have more cordial, son of Thranduil,” she invited, her voice husky-rich. “It will aid your recovery. Pour a glass for Gimli, as well.”

She had provisioned them well, a basket of wines and dainties nestled close at hand, with various oils and ointments in stoppered bottles. Legolas took a small vial, then filled a glass and drank as she bade, feeling heat and energy flush through him from the potent wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Mellon nîn, no veren. Av-'osto_ : My friend, enjoy yourself. Don't be afraid  
>  _Mell nín_ : My dear


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas and Gimli enjoy some well-deserved one-on-one time. Galadriel totally ships it.

By the time Legolas quenched his thirst, Galadriel was whimpering and writhing, lifting herself against Gimli’s tongue; he had two pairs of fingers buried deep inside her and was attending her pleasure with every evidence of keen enjoyment. Legolas beheld him on his knees, and the flush of heat in his belly traveled swiftly lower, the sight stiffening his flesh once more with rapid eagerness. 

Galadriel gazed up at him from heavy-lidded eyes, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. She managed only to move her hand in a beckon, encouraging him, but Legolas needed no encouragement other than the flash of Gimli’s eyes and the motion of his legs: the dwarf parted his knees and went to his elbows, offering access to his body without pausing in his attentions to the lady.

There was not enough air for Legolas to breathe; his head spun and his cheeks flushed. He dropped to his knees without grace. The maids had prepared both of them beforehand-- they were each oiled and ready, and nothing remained to keep him from taking Gimli, if he pleased.

He ran his trembling hands over the dwarf’s broad back, where pale skin and dark ink alternated in intricate patterns of lines and angles. Gimli was hot as a furnace, lust and eagerness baking off him; Legolas’s knees fit between his, but his broad thighs were short, and he was too low for convenience. 

Legolas sank lower, raising Gimli over his lap; he too was strong, and the dwarf’s solid body was not more than he could lift. Gimli hummed encouragement, rumbling deep in his chest as Legolas poised himself to enter. He caressed the small of Gimli’s back, running his fingertips over the dimples at the edge of his spine, letting the whorls of stiff auburn hair tickle his fingers. 

He pressed his body forward, wishing only that he could see Gimli’s face. The dwarf’s body burned with heat, and the passage resisted him, the tender flesh unused to such attention. Legolas opened the vial and eased the way, coating himself with the sweet-scented oil, then tried again. Gimli pushed against him, and he slipped inside, just the tip of him captured within. Tightness and heat all but annihilated his mind; he set his hands on Gimli’s waist and hung fire, trembling, maddened with need but unwilling to force himself deep too swiftly and hurt his lover. 

Galadriel was watching him, her slim arm thrown over her mouth to stifle her cries; her eyes wide and dazed. Gimli groaned against her; his thumbs and fingers left deep red prints in her white flesh. She would be bruised, but Legolas knew from her eyes that she was not deterred. He thought of Celeborn’s languid eyes and indolent manner, and was glad he had not found his half-anticipated place in the lord’s bed. Galadriel must be lonely indeed, glad of the chance to take such an ardent lover to satisfy her.

He pushed forward another inch, and Gimli’s body clenched tight, making him hiss. The lady bucked against the dwarf once, then again, stuttering gusts of pleasure wracking her, small orgasms that crested and retreated, then washed over her again. She keened, riding Gimli's tongue as Legolas slowly sheathed himself in the dwarf's flesh-- so much dearer to him even than his own. 

Galadriel tugged at last on Gimli’s head, drawing him up and away from too-sensitive flesh, pillowing him at the base of her belly. Legolas ran his hands along Gimli’s flanks and up his sides, loving the heat and hardness of him, the rippling power in his muscles. Gimli closed his eyes, his arms wrapped around Galadriel’s waist, and tried to catch his breath. 

“I have never let another male have me thus,” he whispered, hoarse. 

Legolas stopped in a sudden agony of dismay. “I should have asked before beginning. I am sorry.” He began to pull back, his cheeks burning with shame.

“No!” Gimli’s powerful legs clamped hard about his waist. “I would have spoken before, had I been unwilling. I gladly take you as my first-- and only.” He groped back with one broad hand, clasping Legolas firmly by the wrist. “I only wished for you to know it.”

Galadriel smiled gently on Legolas. “Trust in him, _sadron_. Trust in yourself.” She drew herself upright and helped Gimli raise himself upon his hands before withdrawing. “I think it is time for me to rest.” She stretched, lithe and sweet, and laid herself out upon her side, pillowing herself upon her folded arm.

Legolas calmed himself with an effort-- indeed, Gimli had offered himself to be taken. 

Gimli pushed back against him, urging him to move, and Legolas obeyed, taking a slow and shuddering breath as he beheld the body laid out beneath him. He thrust once, then again, but then pulled away.

“On your back, _meleth_? I would see your face.”

Gimli turned over, sinking down into the moss with a sigh, and looked up at Legolas with trust and love shining in his eyes, spreading his thighs.

Legolas moved between them, running his palm along the warm flesh of one sturdy thigh from the tender knee to the crease of his solid, muscular buttock. Gimli smiled one of his rare smiles, stretching out his arms and leaving himself vulnerable, displayed fully before Legolas, his hard cock lying flat against his belly. 

“One of us should have spoken before,” Gimli reached and stroked his palm along his shaft, his eyes roving hungrily over Legolas. “But you hid your desire so well I had no thought mine might be welcomed.”

Legolas moved forward, tucking his knees under Gimli’s thighs and lifting the dwarf up onto him. “And you hid yours so well I danced in despair to save my pride, thinking I would at least amaze the others that you could see such a dance and yet choose elsewhere,” he confessed, lowering his eyes. Gimli draped over him beautifully, his thick shaft eager, his thighs wide, relaxed and ready to be taken.

“Any elf in Lothlórien would have chosen you. Any man or woman in Gondor or in Rohan, any dwarf with eyes in his head.” Gimli laid his hands over Legolas’s where they clasped his waist. “It is my joy that _you_ chose _me_. Even now Haldir is trying to sharpen joyless passion for another and grinding his teeth-- hush, you!” He slapped at Legolas’s hand when he would have protested. “--That the beautiful Prince of the Greenwood would dance so passionately for a lowly dwarf!” He chortled with delight. 

Legolas laughed softly in answer. “No lowly dwarf.” He tugged at his lover’s waist, pressing himself inside Gimli once more, watching with pleasure as his friend’s words raced right out of his head and he swallowed hard, reaching behind his knees and lifting himself to ease their position. “ _My_ dwarf.”

They moved together easily, as well matched in love as in battle. Gimli ran his hands over every part of Legolas he could reach, and Legolas arched to meet him, his lashes fluttering shut when the dwarf scraped blunt fingernails across his nipples. 

“I want to learn everything that makes you look so undone,” Gimli whispered. “Kiss me,” he demanded, stretching upward, and Legolas bent so their mouths could touch. He savored the kiss, drinking deeply of Gimli, then rolled them so the dwarf sat astride. 

“That is better,” Gimli purred and lifted himself to let Legolas thrust up, pushing down to meet him. 

Legolas shivered, reaching to catch Gimli’s hands and supporting him as he rode. The dwarf’s thick, soft beard swept against his chest, tickling his nipples. Gimli’s eyes found his-- glowing with fondness and amusement. 

They moved together slowly, the keen edge of urgency sated enough they could take time to enjoy one another, though Legolas found himself on the verge of forgetting to move his body whenever he gazed into Gimli’s eyes and saw his heart shining there. 

Some part of him was aware, of course, that Galadriel watched them as they loved, her lids half-open, a small smile gracing her lips. Her hand lay tucked between her thighs, and Legolas could see she yet found them desirable. He was glad she did not interfere again, though, remaining quiet even when the pace quickened between them and her breath came fast between parted lips. 

Gimli began to whimper in spite of himself as Legolas found the best angle: little noises of pleasure the dwarf sought to trap and stifle, half-cries that escaped him despite himself. 

The look of Gimli lost in pleasure delighted Legolas. Gimli was stubborn, and seemed determined he would not be the first to submit to his pleasure. The dwarf bit his lip and strained to find calm, sometimes digging his nails into his own thigh, his eyes wild and hot. 

“You... will have to come,” Legolas managed to utter on a gasp. “I will not... go first, my friend.”

“I hoped you would be like this,” Gimli husked. “Beautiful and passionate and still yourself. Oh!” His head tipped back and he shivered as Legolas pushed deep, and he clenched himself tight, trying to wring Legolas’s orgasm from him. 

The dwarf rode fiercely, his skin gleaming with sweat, and when Legolas reached to take him in hand, Gimli could no longer keep silent, growling low in his throat with each long stroke. “That... is cheating!” he managed to gasp.

“All is fair… in love and war!” Legolas could barely speak, his body aflame with need. “Come for me, _meleth_ … let me see you!” He ran his thumb over the tip of Gimli’s cock, spreading the slippery fluid there. 

Gimli struggled for control, every muscle corded taut with strain. His eyes closed and his mouth worked; Legolas speeded his strokes again, lifting Gimli with powerful pushes of his hips that made the dwarf abandon restraint and cry out, desperate, his fingers sinking at Legolas’s hips with force enough to bruise. 

“Gimli, watch,” Legolas husked, and lifted his hand to his mouth to taste the sweet salt of his lover, closing his eyes to savor it, licking Gimli’s essence from his own skin--

Gimli choked a strangled oath and came, spraying his chest and belly with long silver strands, helpless to delay longer. Legolas pushed up hard and seized in turn, his hips hitching with enough force he nearly unseated the dwarf, who clung to him as they thrashed together, then collapsed weakly, toppling off him to the moss. He lay there panting, gasping for breath.

“You are a sly one,” he whispered at length, rolling to swipe his fingers through the mess on Legolas’s belly, then giving them to him to suckle. Legolas obeyed eagerly, licking them clean of the bitter-salt seed, holding Gimli’s heavy-lidded gaze with his own and smiling around his friend’s thick fingers. “A treacherous and sneaking elf indeed, as cunning as you are beautiful. But next time, I will win!”

Gimli bent and licked Legolas clean, then climbed up to kiss him, pushing his tongue into the elf’s mouth with slow, lazy strokes. He was weary, Legolas could see, his body sated and ready for sleep.

“Let us join her,” Gimli nodded toward Galadriel, who still lay near, her own flesh satisfied. Legolas thought her half in reverie, but she was wakeful enough to curl up against the dwarf’s side, pillowing her golden head on his shoulder-- and Legolas did the same, gliding away into dreams of his love and hopes for their time together when they departed Lothlórien once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _sadron_ : loyal one  
>  _meleth_ : beloved


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli gives the lady of Lothlórien his farewell, and she thanks Legolas with the promise of a great gift.

Legolas woke to a feminine cry, and knew what was happening before he ever turned his head to behold it: Gimli was taking his leave of Galadriel in the gathering dawn, his powerful body working between her thighs, his cock buried deep in her. He had heard her cry out as Gimli first drove his thick length inside her; her eyes were wide, her lips open, and she lay gasping with desire, helpless in his arms. 

Legolas wondered how it would feel to be so filled, and looked forward to knowing it many times and soon. The dwarf’s glass of cordial sat empty upon a nearby stone, and Legolas laughed. He guessed it was far more potent than mere wine, helping to sharpen the passions of all those at the festival. 

He could not bring himself to begrudge the queen this moment, not when her clever invitation had brought him together with Gimli so sweetly, not when he would ride forth with Gimli clasped in his arms, his lover and beloved, just as Aragorn had foreseen. Not when he might watch Gimli now and admire the power of his thrusting buttocks and the bunching muscles in his thighs; the ripple and play of the muscle in his back as he lifted himself to ride her hard. It seemed he had lost his shyness.

The dwarf’s face and beard were wet, and Legolas knew Gimli had been long about rousing her; their love-play neared its end. 

They were beautiful together, Gimli’s hips pumping steadily, her white thighs clasped around him, her arms cradling him upon her breast, where his lips latched fast to her nipple, suckling her. Her nails dug at his shoulders and back as he pushed her legs farther apart, the better to pierce deep; she gasped and moaned for him, her long thighs quivering. 

Legolas moved to their side, looking down; he ran his hand along the powerful, flexing muscles of Gimli’s arse, up his sturdy waist and back, along the runes and figures that graced his rock-hard shoulders. 

He took a moment to separate out a lock of hair from Gimli’s beard, dividing it in three, and put an Elvish braid there, tying it off with a bit of grass, marking his beloved.

“What are you doing? Help me please her,” Gimli gasped, his lungs straining for breath. Her breasts rocked hard with each thrust, testament to the power of his taking; she tilted her head back, her eyes closed. Her nails sank in the dwarf’s biceps, and he let his teeth close on her nipple, making Galadriel moan. Her hands moved, cradling his head closer, urging him to give her more.

To Legolas’s thinking she seemed quite pleased already, but he leaned in to cover her free nipple with his own mouth, sweeping his hand along the ridge of Gimli’s spine up into the thick mat of his hair, hot and damp next to his skull. He closed his hand there so he might feel every surge and ripple of the dwarf’s moving, so he might echo it with his own mouth. 

Legolas let his teeth touch the lady, and she freed one hand to cradle him just as he held Gimli, her small fist knotting in his hair to press him closer. She bucked up, strong enough to lift them both, and he nibbled harder, until she keened and writhed for them.

“Please, please…” she whispered, thrashing so needfully Legolas slid his fingers between them to explore. He could feel Gimli’s powerful cock driving inside her slippery flesh over and over, and he found the little bud of her pleasure, trapping it between two fingers and stroking, which made her whimpers turn frantic. 

Mindful of her nails ravaging Gimli’s tender skin, Legolas trapped Galadriel’s slender wrists in his free hand and held them above her head, rolling her nipple between his teeth and stroking her until she shattered apart beneath them, until her pleas and cries turned to steady shrieks and she convulsed with enough power to lift her back from the green, nearly throwing them both off her. Gimli groaned deeply, nearly a roar, and buried his face in the golden glory of her hair, his hips seizing and jerking against her, a last bucking thrust before they collapsed and fell still.

The dawn rose high, shafts of light beaming through the mist, before they stirred. Gimli carefully combed the lady’s hair from its tangles about his limbs, taking great care with the strands, kissing them where they lay over his fingers, then spreading them out around her. Galadriel lay still, smiling up at them. Legolas helped arrange her, lifting her slender limbs and brushing away leaf-mould that clung to her body. She smelled of Gimli-- intoxicating, earthy. 

The scent tempted him, and his body roused, urging him to reach for her-- but it was Gimli he truly wanted, and he saw she knew it. She smiled on him, gentle and kind, her hand moving to lie on her belly as she drew a long slow breath into her lungs, gazing up through the tangled mallorn-limbs and savoring the sun-warmed air of morning. 

“There is clothing for us all in the basket,” she murmured, her voice deep and tender. “You may stay here as long as you wish, but I must away.” She rose and touched Gimli’s face, her eyes warm as she smiled on him. “I will not forget you, _thalionen_ ,” she whispered. “Nor you, Thranduilion, who of your great courtesy agreed to share your greatest treasure for a time with me.” 

“And I will not forget you for guiding him to me-- twice over. If not for your kindness after Mithrandir fell…” Legolas’s throat closed, and his fingers sought Gimli’s, which twined with his and clasped them tightly. “We would never have become friends, and but for your invitation to this place, we might have never found our way to what we now have.”

The lady rose and robed herself, moving with grace. Before she went she paused, and her gaze sought Legolas again, holding him firm. She spoke to him then in Quenya, meaning it for his ears alone: _“Bring him when you sail. I will see to it that he is welcome.”_

“I will, my lady.” Legolas bowed his head as she departed, and he saw Galadriel not again within the land of Middle Earth.

*****

The two found both a sumptuous breakfast and their own clothing waiting for them among the items Galadriel had provided. They ate and drank leisurely, touching often, not speaking, for they found they had no need for more than the language of smiles and touch. As noon drew near they washed themselves in the stream, then dressed and returned to Caras Galadhon to find their horse had been readied for travel.

“Let us go now,” Gimli said, putting his hand on the stirrup. “I would not like to test the lord Celeborn’s courtesy this morning!”

Legolas laughed softly. “He would not begrudge us our night. It is not the way of the Galadhrim-- and I think he would know better than to insult the favored guests of his lady.” He lifted Gimli onto the horse and climbed up behind. He had no desire to see the lord of Caras Galadhon himself, nor Haldir, nor even Galadriel. His eyes were joyful, for they beheld his beloved Gimli, and he knew himself loved. 

“You were kind to give me this time with the lady when you might have had me all your own,” Gimli whispered, leaning his head back against Legolas’s chest. 

“I would deny you nothing,” Legolas murmured, leaning in to nuzzle at the dwarf’s ear. “She was kind to invite us and to share herself, knowing I would be selfish and take you for my own when it was done.” He guided their horse forth toward the ferry that would carry them east of Anduin, and by the time they reached the edge of the wood, the two of them were singing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _thalionen_ : my champion


	6. Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you were just here for the smut, "leave now and never come back...." ;-) Seriously, this chapter represents a major change in tone. I feel kind of weird about it, because it violates a number of personal preferences and includes story devices I usually avoid in writing. However, Galadriel wanted it to end this way. If you don't like it, please feel free to believe the story stops after the previous chapter.

Gulls soared and wheeled overhead as a small grey ship passed under the arch to the harbor of Alqualondë. Though the sea was gentle and they were met by elves who laid a sturdy gangplank against the ship's side, Legolas did not relax until his feet were settled firmly upon the ground. He had perhaps waited too late to sail, but the dwarf could not be trusted to negotiate such a slender and unsteady bridge without help, and so Legolas would not let him try.

"Set me down, curse you," Gimli demanded without real heat once Legolas had carried him ashore. "I can walk on my own. There are friends here to greet!"

A tall young elf Legolas did not know stood forth and helped him set the dwarf upright, steadying him. Gimli stabbed his walking stick against the ground and hobbled forward. "Forgive me, lady, for I cannot kneel as you deserve!"

Galadriel set her hand upon his head, smiling. " _Elvellon_ , welcome. See, he is unchanged in courtesy, Gandalf, despite the burden of his years!"

The wizard harumphed most disrespectfully at her, but greeted Gimli fondly. "Welcome, Gimli son of Glóin, the first dwarf ever to set foot in the land of Aman!"

He spoke further, and Gimli answered, but Legolas heard it not. He turned aside to thank his helper, but stopped, feeling at a loss. The elf was very youthful, strong and slender, with silver-golden hair like many others, but he had an elegant bearing that reminded Legolas at once of Thranduil. The young elf smiled warmly upon him, and Legolas again found the look of it strangely familiar, though they could not possibly have met before.

"Here is a wonder I never thought to see!" Gimli lifted his head and squinted up at the young one, then beamed a rare smile at him. "Come, let us find a place to sit and have a drink, so that we can come to know one another." He gave the lady a saucy wink. "I can tell there is much news we should be told!"

"Lasgalen, here is your father, come at last to join us," Galadriel spoke, and set her hands upon both their shoulders. The young elf bowed, a perfect vision of grace, and Legolas's vision blurred, his heart overflowing with knowledge half-guessed, now confirmed. More feelings than he could name surged through him, making war within his breast-- his own conflicted emotions regarding his father, guilt at missing the lad's birth and growth, confusion, startlement, bewilderment-- and a fierce proud joy that eclipsed all else when Lasgalen reached forth to clasp his hands in welcome.

" _Hannon le_ ," he spoke in a clear and gentle voice, and bowed. "Be welcome, _ada_."

Legolas broke at that, and clasped the elfling to his breast. If he wept, none were discourteous enough to speak of it. The lady smiled upon them both, and her eyes were also wet.

They went in to a great pavilion together. There they rested and drank, and many tales were told. Legolas rejoiced to see his aged husband so happy, and marveled in humble wonder at this glorious new being, his son, whose existence they had never guessed. But he was also deep in sorrow, for he knew Gimli's days were not long. He guessed he might never grow to know his son truly, for he knew would fade when the dwarf had passed, and go to Mandos then to seek the healing of oblivion.

Torn between spending his hours with Lasgalen and remaining at Gimli's side, he was glad when the young elf agreed to stay nearby. For Gimli's feeble strength failed swiftly among the wonders of Aman, and he soon took to his bed, growing weaker by the day.

"I have duties near this place," Lasgalen said. "And I will stay close beside you, except when I must tend them."

He did so, and Legolas found him a great comfort, for soon he could not leave his beloved, fearing Gimli might slip away while he was gone and wishing to cling to every moment he might.

Galadriel also came to visit them each day, and while he was himself, Gimli was always glad to see her. But soon he passed into a sleep that did not end, and did not stir except in response to Legolas-- if then, his conscious moments ever more feeble and far apart.

"The blessed realm is not kind to mortals," Galadriel said, passing her hand over Gimli's brow. "His strength wanes. And yet I am glad you have brought him with you, Legolas, as I asked."

"It has been his great joy to see you again." Legolas felt his heart near to breaking. "I confess I would rather have had the span of his days unshortened, if I might, but he greatly longed to come. I know he is glad to have met Lasgalen, and to have seen what the three of us wrought together. It grieved him more than he would say, I think, that we could have no sons of our own."

He laid his hand upon Gimli's shoulder, but the dwarf gave no sign of awareness, shrunken and grey amidst the blankets, his breath faint. Legolas felt a great heaviness settle in his chest, and he blinked away tears, feeling the terrible emptiness of loss lurking near.

"Do not give yourself to grief," the lady spoke, and pulled Legolas's head against her where he sat, bent over Gimli's bed. "For I have brought hope."

Legolas lifted his head then, and saw behind her a great, tall figure, strong and dark and broad, wearing a crown of shining gold.

"The time is near," the Vala spoke. "My children will grieve to lose such a great hero among their kind." His voice was deep and loving, if rough.

Legolas bowed his head, for his heart knew Aulë and he revered him deeply, more than many other elves had done throughout the ages. "My _amrâlimê_ would be honored to have you here at his passing," he managed to speak, though his voice shook with great grief.

"The dwarrows will grieve as the elves wept to lose Tinúviel and Undómiel," Galadriel said, lifting her head high.

Aulë stepped to Gimli's bedside, and Legolas thought his heart would break as the strong dark hand reached forth to touch Gimli's brow, leaning close to him. The dwarf's breath left his great chest in a slow stream, and it did not rise again.

"Take me with him to your halls," Legolas pleaded, falling to his knees by Gimli's couch, his arms outflung over the lifeless body. "For he has told me his name, and I would go, forsaking all to be with him again--" his voice broke as Lasgalen appeared.

"Wait a while yet, Greenleaf, and see," Aulë spoke not unkindly, raising him to his feet again.

Lasgalen stepped past his father and pushed aside the great curtain that separated Gimli's sickroom from the balcony and the sky. Morning shone down over the sea, and gulls swooped and banked around the masts of ships. But Legolas paid them no mind, drawn forward against his will. A cot stood there, and on it lay a sheet draped over the form of a person. Lasgalen drew aside the sheet, and Legolas saw what seemed to be a dwarf with fiery hair, deep auburn mixed with golden strands. He frowned, baffled, looking back toward Gimli, who lay motionless and pale in death. The small, still figure struck him with fresh anguish, and he would have crumpled, but the hand of the Vala bore him up and gave him the strength to continue.

"I carried two sons within me when I departed Middle Earth for Aman," Galadriel spoke softly. "You have met your own. Here lies the second."

Aulë drew Legolas near to the cot, and he let himself be guided, struck speechless with amazement. The figure upon the cot lay very still, and he saw its ears had not the rounded curve of a dwarf, but the delicate points of an elf. The figure did not move or speak, and its eyes lay closed but peaceful. Breath rose and fell steadily in its chest.

Galadriel spoke softly, drawing Legolas a step farther from Gimli's lifeless body, though he was loath to go. "No child has ever before come of the union between dwarf and elf-- few they have been, and unfruitful. But when we three lay together, I felt life quicken twice within me, and I could see them both in my mind's eye-- and I knew the second child who grew within me had no _fëa_." Galadriel led Legolas gently to the bedside, where he marveled to find an elf's pale and perfect skin gracing the strong and sturdy build of a dwarf, hair and beard the color of his love's mingled with striking highlights of silver-gold. The handsome features were slack, but well-made, with a strong heavy brow and high, well-set cheekbones. 

Galadriel smiled down upon her son. "I could think of only one reason for Ilúvatar to send me such a gift, and I would do no less than the One asked. I carried my sons and bore them, and both lived. Together Lasgalen and I have tended him and fed him as we waited for this day to come, when the waiting vessel would be filled." She smiled on Legolas and raised her gaze to Aulë, who set his hand upon the figure's brow and breathed on him.

"By the grace of Eru, this gift is fulfilled," he whispered. "Arise now, _amlâkhazad, amlâkfund_. Your friends are waiting."

Brown eyes opened, blinking against the strong light. They searched, then fixed upon Legolas, warming with recognition. The figure stirred, a puzzled frown creasing its brow, its lips moving in a soundless whisper. " _Âzyungel_?"

Legolas fell to his knees, weeping, and buried his head in the flowing mane, soaking it with tears. One strong young hand arose to pat his shoulder. "Calm yourself, Legolas. We have guests behind you, some of whom I do not know," Gimli muttered, gruff, his voice a new deep baritone in which Legolas could hear much of his love of old. "Help me up, elf, for I would meet them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneaky Galadriel didn't tell me this was going to be a fixit fic until I was busy writing chapter 3 and she had the dwarf rather firmly in hand... LOL!
> 
> I hope you liked the lady's solution to the ULTIMATE GIMLEAF DILEMMA! It owes a great debt, of course, to the brilliant determamfidd and her concept of the dwarvish afterlife, including the possible rebirth of heroes among the dwarves-- though I alone am to blame for any failings in the execution of the idea.
> 
>  _elvellon_ : Elf-friend  
>  _hannon le_ : Well met  
>  _ada_ : Father  
>  _amrâlimê_ : Beloved  
>  _amlâkhazad_ : Half-dwarf  
>  _amlâkfund_ : Half-elf (with EVERY SINGLE BIT of the damn immortality that promises! SCORE!)


End file.
